


ride

by king_wizard



Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Bathroom Sex, Bottom Jensen, Dirty Talk, M/M, Panty Kink, Public Sex, Rimming, Schmoop, top Jeff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-05
Updated: 2014-03-05
Packaged: 2018-01-14 16:36:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1273450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/king_wizard/pseuds/king_wizard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen was *not* in bondage the first time he met Jeffery Dean Morgan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ride

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this [prompt](http://letskinkjensen.livejournal.com/1210.html?thread=13498#t13498) at letskinkjensen on LJ. Please suspend your disbelief and pretend this isn't a month late and it's still Valentine's Day!
> 
> Also: do y'all want more JDM/Jensen fic?

" - and he did meet you when you were in bondage. He's gonna expect something kinky."

"I wasn't in bondage."

"You were wrapped up in chains, dude."

"I was chained to a tree."

"Um," the girl at the counter, petite and brunette with thick rimmed glasses, mumbles, drawing Jensen's huffed attention. "Are you ready to checkout?"

"Yes," Jared answers at the same time Jensen grits, "No." She blinks. 

Sighing, Jensen pinches the bridge of his nose. Jared runs the feathered edge of a crop along his fingers. Jensen bats the tickle away with a frown.

"I'm not giving...whatever that is to Jeff for Valentine's Day."

Perking up, the girl asks, "You're looking for Valentine's Day gifts?"

"No," Jensen says firmly at the same time Jared grins, "Yes." She blinks.

Licking his lips, Jensen forces the most pleasant smile he can muster. "I'm sorry, miss. We're actually just on our way out."

"Do you think Jeff would be offended if you bought a dildo? Like, do you think it would threaten his masculinity? He seems pretty - "

The words tumble into a grunt as Jensen wraps his hand around Jared's arm and yanks, pulling him out of the Pleasure Chest. Jensen flashes a tight smile to the checkout girl before pushing Jared through the door.

-

Jensen was not in bondage the first time he met Jeffery Dean Morgan. 

Technically his chest was bound under heavy chain link, the metal wrapping snakelike around his arms and legs. It wasn't a kink, though, the way Jared and Chris and the majority of his immature and incredibly lame friends delighted in making it sound. It was for Riverside Park, the place that held the sunshine of Jensen's childhood memories, where the youth soccer league practiced on Saturday's and Medicine Stone Music Festival was held each year. 

The protest was the third Jensen had ever attended with Keep Riverside County Clean. He hadn't thought he would ever be a cog in the hippie nonsense machine, but damn if he hadn't been moved by their mission and swept by their passion. A cause had never quite tugged his breath away the way protecting the parks and running waters and breathing things of Riverside had. 

To this day, Jensen doesn't quite remember how the group's leader and possible future Empress of the world Danneel Harris had bewitched him into chaining himself to the spanning Blue Oak in the middle of the park. He does remember the rush of adrenaline, the swell in his chest, and Jeffery Dean Morgan.

Jeff was a senior partner at Coachella Valley Environmental Law. He had occasionally lent his expertise to KRCC, pro-bono of course, and he had shown up that day to run interference with Carver Construction, the firm that had bought the property from the city with the promise of renovations and revealed plans to pour concrete over the grass that had stained Jensen's jeans since he was 3-years-old. 

Jensen and Jeff had locked gazes in the glint of the summer sun. It wasn't love at first sight, wasn't an explosion of fireworks or a revelation. A high Jensen had never known had been coursing through his veins, and when Jeff's eyes bore into his, Jensen had found a way to ride the euphoria. 

He'd ridden Jeff in the man's spacious backseat a few hours later, after Carver Construction had threatened to have the protesters removed. Danneel and Chris had been unchaining him when Jeff had stepped in, offered to help untangle him, and Jensen had found himself following Jeff back to his car and slipping inside.

That was three months ago. Jensen had been firmly holding onto the ride, had kept his legs wrapped around Jeff's neck and his heart wrapped in his throat. Every morning he woke up and wondered if this was the day Jeff would yank the emergency brake on whatever roller coaster they were looping through, and every night he went to sleep with a skip in his pulse.

They were boyfriends, he guessed; although they never had The Conversation, Jeff had dropped enough hints and Jensen had spent enough nights in his sprawling bed to know Jensen's ass was the only one Jeff was riding.

Valentine's Day is in one week. Jensen spends the first week of February unsure if he should celebrate the holiday with his probably-boyfriend. He spends the second frantically searching for the perfect gift.

-

Within the circle of idiots Jensen calls his friends, Chris Kane is by far the most practical.

"Lord no you shouldn't get a dildo for Valentine's Day." 

Relieved, Jensen balances the phone on his shoulder and takes a sip of coffee. He knew he could count on Chris for sound advice. 

"Old man's heart would probably explode."

Jensen hangs up.

-

"He's classy," Danneel is telling him over the phone. Jensen nods. "You should get him something classy."

"Yes, exactly. Jared wanted me to get a bunch of sex toys."

A pause. "That'd probably work."

Jensen sighs. He avoids a crack in the sidewalk as he continues his way through a small corner of Riverside’s sprawling shopping district. All the shops have heart decals on their windows, signs declaring love and advertising holiday specials. 

"Everyone likes sex toys, Jensen."

"The first time we met, I was chained to a tree. I don't want him to think I'm any more of a freak."

"First of all, you can fuck right off with your sex toy judgments," she reprimands, cheerful and firm. "Just because a person has sex differently than you, doesn't mean they're a freak. Second, he clearly likes freak. He's kept you around, hasn't he?"

Feeling appropriately chastised, Jensen mumbles a quick apology. He's going to ask her opinion on cuff links when he passes Watch This!, the shine of the brass pocket watch display glinting in the crisp sun. 

"Danni, hey. I gotta go. I think I just found what I'm looking for."

Jensen can hear her roll her eyes. "Jen. I think you already have."

-

February 14th rolls through the wind, and Jensen wakes with a giddy beat in his heart and a sense of pride at the knowledge that he's the best probably-boyfriend ever. 

The engraved pocket watch is tucked away in a simple black box, hidden behind his dress socks and ties. Jensen brushes his fingers over the top as he grabs his clothes.

Jeff had told him three days ago that he'd made reservations at their favorite hole in the wall Mexican restaurant. Jensen almost doesn't want to wait for dinner. He knows Jeff, traditional in his values and conservative in the cut of his suits and the shine of his cuff links, will jizz his perfectly pressed trousers at the delicately crafted pocket watch.

Grinning to himself, Jensen slips his own suit on, grabs his coffee, and rushes to City Hall.

-

I got you the best Valentine ever. I'm seriously so impressed with myself.

Five minutes later, Jensen's phone buzzes on his desk.

You're the best Valentine ever.

Jensen rolls his eyes as color climbs in his cheeks and fondness climbs in his chest.

-

In the lunch room, Jensen watches Chad freak the fuck out at the realization that it's Valentine's Day and he hasn't gotten his wife a present. While he listens to the high shriek of Chad frantically trying to order sold out roses, he slips his phone on the table.

Is it wrong to find such joy in people fucking up Valentine's Day?

Lunch is nearly over when Jeff texts back.

Now that's not very nice, Jen. 

Jensen grins.

-

An hour away from five o'clock, Jensen can't sit still. He feels like he's 14, nerves alight and palms sweating and heart beating war hammer fast, restless the entire day of the Valentine's dance. Previous holidays have never found him so excited, though, so ready to see the dimples that will dig into Jeff's bearded skin and so much more than ready to enjoy the scrape of that beard on the back of his thighs, the meat of his ass.

Your gift will be outside your apartment, Jeff texts a quarter to quitting time. 

Jensen doesn't hesitate in his response. I don't think you can leave your tongue in my ass in the hallway. People will talk, Jeff.

Wear your present, sweetheart, and I swear my tongue will never leave. 

-

The black box is wrapped with a crisp white bow, waiting patient and perfect outside Jensen's apartment when he arrives. 

It's a little big for cuff links, which is what Jensen initially assumed, and a little small for clothing. A watch, Jensen thinks as he cradles it gently in his hands. He smiles. Jeff is definitely the kind of maybe-boyfriend who would buy a statement piece, illustrate the worth he found in Jensen with an object of grace and beauty.

Jensen wants to rip the bow away with his teeth and dive inside. He's practiced patience, though, since he got a whooping for sneaking into his Christmas presents early when he was a kid. So with a deep, happy breath, he unlocks the door and places the box on the entry way table. 

Stripping his jacket and unknotting his tie, he hurries to his bedroom, eager to fling the boxy work clothes to the bed and slip into the jeans that cling to his ass the way he wants Jeff's hands to, curl into the dark red sweater that makes Jeff lick his lips.

He texts Jeff before slipping his shoes on. 

Ready for you.

He almost adds a ;) before remembering he's an adult with an illusion of dignity. 

Are you wearing your gift?

Just about to put it on.

Once he's dressed, he approaches the gift, giddy and light. The same rush of good he found chained to a tree, a breeze in his dry bones, fills his chest as he grips the bow and tugs.

No glint gleams under the light of his apartment, though. No silver, no craftsmanship, no brand name that could swallow Jensen's city servant savings whole. 

Instead there is pink and lace and confusion, folded neat and unthreatening on top of another layer of innocent white.

Jensen stumbles back on a wave of what actual fuck?

His first thought is it's a joke. Jeff's not exactly the most somber person he knows, and considering it now, he strikes Jensen as a man who has a healthy appreciation for a good prank.

His second thought is uglier. Jeff meant to send this to someone else. A girlfriend, a most likely girlfriend, the lady version of Jensen. Panic and twisting rage grip him.

Jensen clenches his fist as he realizes he could be the other woman. Man. Person. The other person gripping and sucking and riding and going crazy for Jeff's cock, the other person who makes him coffee, kisses him before he brushes his teeth in the morning, has bad movie marathons that devolve into spit slick make-out sessions and messy rim jobs bent over the couch. 

Fears begin to swirl with practicality, the logic of what he knows of Jeff and himself. Jeff is just plain too well organized and swift and sure to mix up his lovers' gifts.

He also holds Jensen too tightly, kisses him too deeply, fucks him too presently and perfectly to be thinking of anyone else, to want anything other than what he has when Jensen's legs are clinging to his middle and Jensen's ass is clinging to his dick.

It's a joke. That's the only possible explanation. 

-

After five minutes of gaping at the pretty pink panties (Jensen can admit they're pretty, nothing wrong with appreciating the delicate beauty of delicate lace), Jensen decides he likes having a probably boyfriend with a stupid sense of humor. It's something he wasn't expecting, but it's a pleasant surprise, makes him roll his eyes and coaxes a rush of blood to his cheeks.

In the parking lot.

Jensen rushes to his room to grab his jacket and slide the box holding Jeff's pocket watch in one of the inner pockets. He texts back as he heads out the front door. Be right down.

Are you wearing them, sweetheart?

Heat deepens in his face, begins to glow low in his belly. He shakes his head. If Jeff wants to prank the prince of pranks, then Jensen can play along. 

You'll see later tonight, won't you?

-

On the bottom step of the stairs, Jensen pauses. He bites his lip, debates with himself, feels stupid then bold then stupid again. 

In the end, he jogs back to his apartment and wads the panties into one of his inner jacket pockets. 

Jensen's heart skips a beat as the lace brushes his fingers, as the pretty pink of it pokes out of his pocket. The heat and the strange thrill humming in the back of his blood remain with him as he rushes to the parking lot.

But it's just a joke. That's the only explanation.

-

Jeff doesn't bring up the gift on the car ride.

They argue about music, flipping stations, batting each other's hands away until Jensen's guilty pleasure Poison shouts through the radio. When Jeff reaches to wilt Every Rose Has It's Thorn, Jensen grabs his wrist; when Jeff opens his mouth to mock Bret Michael's pain, Jensen sucks two thick fingers between his lips and laves his tongue around the tips.

The radio station stays on Classic 92.2, and Jeff's fingers stay on the back of Jensen's tongue. 

-

Both of them are straining and shifting when they finally pull into the restaurant. It's not crowded - never is - and Jensen actually gives Jeff's eyebrow wriggling suggestion to jerk each other off in the car a second's pause. 

"I'm 27," Jensen reminds him, giving his thumb a punishing, tempting nip as he pulls off with a pop. "Not 17."

Jeff pouts. 

"Stop that. It looks ridiculous on you." 

Jeff keeps pouting, absolutely forcing Jensen to lick the downturn of his lips away and replace it with a swollen smile.

-

Jeff doesn't bring up the gift at dinner. 

They order the white dip first. Jensen wants a vat of it big enough to swim in, settles for sighing and fluttering his eyes as hot tortilla chips and warm cheese and deliciousness tingle through his body. 

"That should be illegal," Jeff breathes.

Jensen flutters his eyes back open. It's a little embarrassing, the darkness of Jeff's eyes and the wet openness of his mouth, being looked at as if he tastes better than the dip (which is impossible because mmm), but it's more thrilling than mortifying.

Emboldened by Jeff's desire, Jensen licks the salt from his lips.

"Boy," Jeff says. Jensen shivers at the tone, the word, which makes him feel small and young and delicate in ways he should loathe but absolutely doesn't. "You're trying to kill me."

"But what a way to go, right?" 

Jeff's laugh rumbles over Jensen's skin. "I always imagined I'd die in the sky."

"Like...in a plane? If I'd known you were afraid of flying, I'd have never taken you so high." 

The cheese of the line has Jeff chuckling again; the lowering of lashes has Jeff licking his lips. Jensen feels himself flush. 

"Illegal," Jeff repeats. The depth of his gaze, his lust coated adoration, is fathomless in his eyes, and Jensen falls into it with little thought. "No. Skydiving, parachuting, hot air balloon running into a mountain. I blame my mother. She used to read me Peter Pan, far past the age that it’s appropriate to read bedtime stories to your son. I’ve always wanted death to be an adventure.”

Fondness flushes Jensen, curls along the almost ever present need that whispers in his belly and brain when Jeff is near. Fondness and something dangerously, welcomingly, deeper. 

He takes a deep breath and realizes Danneel, as always, was right. He has found what he’s looking for.

“Your present,” Jensen says, lost in his own head. He shakes it clear, smiles gentle and genuine. “I have your present.”

Jeff returns his smile and reaches across the table, palm up. Jensen grips his fingers immediately, loves the feeling of them against his own almost as much as he loves the feeling of them in his mouth, his ass. 

“My awesome present?”

Jensen nods, a little flustered at his earlier blustering but steadfast in the instinct that Jeff will love it. He fishes for the box in his jacket, fingers brushing the lace he’d forgotten.

“Jen?” Jeff asks, concerned until his eyes flash hot. His voice deepens when he says, “You’re blushing, sweetheart.”

Jensen can feel the heat on his cheeks, tries to ignore it as he reaches into the other pocket. Without a word, he slides the box across the table. Without a word, Jeff opens the box.

“Sweetheart.”

“It’s engraved,” Jensen says, suddenly and dumbly nervous. Jeff’s breathy endearment and the softness of his face is proof enough that he’s in love with it already. 

"It's perfect."

Shrugging, Jensen bites his lip. "Told you it'd be awesome."

Jeff runs his fingers along the details, swivels and swirls in the brass that glow golden in the dim light. Jensen's breath catches in his throat (so dumb) when the thick pad of Jeff's thumb clicks the watch open. Laughter honey thick and whiskey warm trickles as Jeff rubs over the engraving. 

Let's ride.

"I just," Jensen begins, knowing he doesn't need to offer an explanation, feeling as if he should anyway. 

Jeff bores into him, gaze so sharp Jensen sweats under his sweater and forgets the language of words. "It's beautiful, sweetheart. Though I'm sure it's not nearly as lovely as you are in my gift."

Jensen's eyes widen, breath stutters, and the fingers still tracing over Jeff's tremble to a halt. Sudden as death and hot as fire, it hits him. 

It wasn't a joke. There was another explanation.

"What the shit." Jensen whispers it like it's been punched out of him. Jeff raises an eyebrow, tilts his head. The blush already staining Jensen's cheeks deepens. His tongue feels cotton thick and his mouth feels cotton dry as he says, "You were serious."

Jeff chuckles. "Of course I was, Jen." He pauses a moment before asking, dark toned, "You weren't?"

"I thought it was a joke!” Panic and mortification are sliding slick and arid as California winter in his gut. "I thought you were trying to prank me."

"For Valentine's Day? It wouldn't be very gentlemanly to send you a gag gift for the holiday of love." A beat, and Jeff grins sharply. "Unless it was an actual gag."

Jensen sputters. 

"Oh, sweetheart." Jeff laughs as he shakes his head. "I thought you were shy. It didn't occur to me you were just vanilla."

"I'm not - " Jensen stutters. "Why did you - I mean. Panties. I never said - "

"You wear silk boxers," Jeff interrupts, tone dripping with patient indulgence. He squeezes Jensen's fingers between his own. 

Flushing, Jensen drops his gaze. "I like the way they feel."

"You're always touching things, Jen. Can't walk by a rack of clothing without putting your hands all over it. And I saw you, a few weeks ago." Jeff pitches his voice even lower (and Jeff says he should be illegal; a voice like that should be a felony, at least). "That pink dress on the mannequin in Mary Louise's store. When I was visiting with her, you couldn't keep your hands off the lace. You were blushing. Just as pretty as you are now."

And fuck. Jensen had done that. He loved the rough and soft and tumble of lace under his fingers, contrast of petal pink against his skin, but it wasn't - it didn't mean - 

"M'not a girl," he grumbles, defensive and undeniably, helplessly curious. Now that Jeff has spoken in that bewitching voice, the kind that could drag a good man to evil, Jensen is aware of the silk on his ass and thighs, cradling his balls and suddenly plump cock. The sense memory of lace breathes over him, replaces the smooth with the hint of delicate scratch. 

"No," Jeff agrees with a smirk, as if he can read the thoughts in Jensen's head and taste the blood rushing to Jensen's cock. "You're not a girl, sweetheart." He regards Jensen quietly for a few moments. "You are a liar, though."

Jensen is going to argue; he wasn't lying, thought the panties were a gag (and oh Jensen's brain is stupid, mashing up words and fantasies he's never had and suddenly he can feel the scratch of pink lace in his mouth and oh, his brain is stupid). Before he can, Jeff raises their entwined hands and brushes a kiss to his knuckles. 

"I forgive you," Jeff breathes against his skin, sends goose bumps and need over every inch of Jensen he isn't touching.

"I didn't realize."

"Well, now you do." Jeff kisses the back of Jensen's hand. "Question is, sweetheart, what are you going to do about it?"

Jensen wants to say he doesn't know; wants to say nothing. But he knew in his heart (his dick at least), as soon as Jeff pulled out ‘pretty’ in that black velvet voice of his, what he was going to do.

"You can say no. Jensen." Jeff doesn't continue until Jensen meets his gaze. "You can tell me to fuck off. I just thought you'd like it."

Even knowing he's going to say yes, Jensen bites his lip, gives the illusion of thought as he draws whatever bravery exists in his guts to the surface. "You thought you'd like it."

"I know I'd like it. But Jen. You've already given me more than I asked for."

"I told you it was awesome," Jensen says, smiling as he glances at the pocket watch.

"It's a gorgeous piece, Jensen, and I'll treasure it. But that's not what I meant."

Jensen is going to call out the sappy grossness of Jeff's words, ask if maybe he should be the one wearing the panties, but Jeff's eyes are too solemn and the affection is rushing too quickly in his throat. He doesn't say a thing.

-

Jensen spends a full minute staring at his shoes. He can probably pull his jeans down them, the panties up them, but the idea of his feet on the bathroom floor makes him frown. 

Finally he decides to just sit his dumb ass on the edge of the toilet and toe his shoes off. He stands to unbutton and unzip, hesitates only a moment before dropping his jeans and stepping out of them. His fingers hover over the edge of his boxers.

With a deep breath and a burst of courage, he pushes them over his hips.

For a moment he just stands, bare from the waist down in Abuelo’s bathroom stall, and realizes this is his life. 

Half-naked in a public restroom, cock heavy and aching from the thought of slipping his new pink panties over his skin, fingers itching to ease the lace on. This his life. These are his choices. 

He turns to rest his forehead on the stall. Breathes. Thinks of Jeff. Breathes. 

“Okay, Jensen. Okay. You can do this.” Repeating the mental mantra, he reaches into his pocket and grasps the lace. It feels unreal under his fingers.

“Like a Band-Aid,” he tells himself, too distracted by the burn of what he’s about to do to stop talking out loud. “Just do it.”

Stepping into the panties is surreal. He floats away from the tether of his bones and his vision blurs as he slides them up his legs. The brush of the band against the tip of his cock, flushed now, nearly as pink as the lace, draws a breathy groan.

He has to close his eyes as he wraps his hand around his half-hard cock, pull the panties so he can tuck the hot flesh away. The lace cradles his dick, his balls, soft as Jeff’s skin and scratchy as Jeff’s beard. He moans softly again as he finally settles them across his hips. And then it’s over, it’s done.

The thrills running through him are nothing like the little electric waves he enjoyed when he was chained to Riverside Park’s longest standing oak tree. These thrills have teeth and tongues, are living in his bones and blood. This high has him in black space where there is no light, no air, no thinking; there is only a body floating and made to feel.

He’s breathing fast as he reaches for his jeans. The door creaks, and he stills for a second before yanking his pants on.

"Jen?"

"I'm in here. I, uh - "

"Are you wearing them?"

The question kills everything in Jensen that isn't the thrill thump of his heart. "Yeah," he breathes. "Yes."

"Let me see."

"Now?"

Jeff chuckles lowly. Without a thought, Jensen unlocks the stall. He steps back, giving Jeff room to step inside, flushing at another wave of heat. Jeff drops his gaze to Jensen's still open fly.

"See?" he asks, tremble in his thighs working its way into his voice. 

Jeff takes a step forward, crowds him until his back is against the stall, so close he's breathing Jeff's breath. His cock gives a hungry throb as Jeff leans in, brushes his cheek against Jensen's cheek, stubble biting into skin in that delicious way that has Jensen sighing and baring his throat. 

Jensen brings his arms around Jeff's neck, ready to pull him in for a teasing kiss, but Jeff's hands grip his wrists. He swallows hard as Jeff spreads his arms to the sides and presses them to the stall. His next breath is nothing but a shudder.

"Sweetheart." Jeff cradles Jensen's face in his hands, tilts it so Jensen is looking him straight in the eye. He brushes their lips together, sweet and soft. "Let me see."

"Yeah.” 

Jeff smiles, dimples in full force, and kisses him again, a little wetter and a lot hotter. Jensen tries to chase his mouth when he breaks the kiss, but his head falls back against the stall when Jeff's fingers slip under his jeans. 

Jensen thinks maybe he should protest, at least pretend to, preserve a shred of dignity. But he's already in pink panties in a public bathroom. Then Jeff slides to his knees, and Jensen stops thinking altogether.

Jeff tugs his jeans down to his shaking knees. Warm breath falls against Jensen's cock, straining against the lace. He makes a little noise that he'll deny to his dying day when Jeff rubs his cheek against the bulge. Jeff's beard bites against the soft fabric, adds a sharp twist to his lust. 

A please is on his tongue when Jeff mouths over his lace cradled heat.

"Ah, fuck," Jensen pants, dropping his head back. "Suck me, want you - "

"Now earlier," Jeff interrupts, lips sliding warm and soft over Jensen's cock. "You said you wanted me to eat you. You gotta make up your mind, sweetheart. How do you want my mouth?"

Jensen's answer devolves into a shuddering moan as Jeff traces his open mouth down the length of Jensen's throbbing dick, sweeps his lips over Jensen's balls. "Eat me out," he pants when he can manage words again. "Fuck, Jeff, thinking about it all day - "

"Me too." Jeff kisses his thigh, bites it lightly then soothes Jensen's breathy hurt with his tongue. "Thought about how pretty you'd look in your gift. Licking you out over them. Not even touching your hole, just eat you out through your new panties. Make you come like that, make a mess."

"Gonna ruin 'em."

"Gonna ruin you, sweetheart. Gonna make a pretty little mess of you." Jensen honest to fuck whimpers. "Turn around."

Jensen obeys easily. He turns, presses his palms and forehead to the stall, arches his back to tilt his ass up for whatever Jeff wants to do it, for however Jeff wants to wreck him. 

Hot breath sweeps over the curve of Jensen's ass, the straining back of his thighs. His bones, whatever is left of his nerves and dignity, melt as Jeff licks a fire trail from the indent of his knee to the edge of the lace. He moans, murmurs something, yeah or fuck or Jeff's name; he's too focused on feeling to know what he's thinking or saying. 

After the backs of his legs are shining and shaking, Jeff adds teeth to the torture. Slides the blunt edge of them over Jensen's calf. Nips at Jensen's thighs with quick little pressures that have Jensen squirming, laughing into moans and shuddering breaths. Finally, Jeff sinks his teeth into the meat of Jensen's ass, bottom set settling into skin and top settling into lace. 

The sting of it has Jensen gasping, has his eyes glowing wet, and the pleasure of it has Jensen pressing into Jeff's teeth. 

Jeff sucks at the skin and Jensen can practically feel the soft bruise rushing to the surface, can feel Jeff pulling mottled yellow-purple-please from his muscle. By the time Jeff releases the mouthful and drags his tongue along the indentions, Jensen is past want and need. 

"C'mon," he grits. 

"Impatient," Jeff says. Jensen can hear his smile. "You're not gonna let me enjoy my gift?"

"Thought this was – ah - for me. Dammit, Jeff."

Jeff pulls away with an obscene pop. "You're right, sweetheart." He brings both of his perfect hands to palm Jensen's ass, gripping each cheek and digging his fingers into the flesh. Jensen moans, pushes into the pressure, revels and shivers in it. "This is about you. Giving you exactly what you want."

"You know what I want. Fuckin' give it to me already." 

Chuckling, Jeff presses an open mouthed kiss to the lace. "Yeah. I always know what you want, don't I, Jen? Always give it to you?"

"Not giving it to me now."

"Yeah I am." He laps at the meld between lace and skin, tonguing over the peek of Jensen's ass that the panties don't cover before slithering underneath the fabric. "You wanted me to eat you out, Jen, eat you up. That's exactly what I'm doing. But you're so pretty like this. Too pretty to just dive in for the main course. You need to be savored.”

Jensen wants to scoff, bluster that he's not some four course five star meal, laid out on shiny china to be sipped and bitten by delicate teeth. If he's anything, he's a burrito box at Taco Bell, ready to be torn apart and devoured. 

Jeff continues to lick over Jensen’s skin, bare and swaddled in pink lace, as if they have all the time in the world. Which they don't. Someone is going to need the restroom for actual restroom reasons, find them here, Jensen a mess of sweat and needy need in his rumpled shirt and pink panties, Jeff a mass of want and debauchment in his pressed slacked knees which must be aching from the cold tile floor. 

They could be arrested. Worse yet, they could never be allowed to come back to Abuelo's again. All that queso, lost. 

"C-c'mon." Jensen's impatience and lust and nerves have mangled into one bundle, pulsing deep and loud. 

"When you get all desperate like this," Jeff murmurs into his spit-sweat-want-slick skin. He brushes his stubble cheek over the lace. Jensen presses into it, chases the sweet burn when Jeff pulls away with a chuckle. The cruelty is eased when Jeff cups his ass in both hands, kneading his skin. Jensen melts against the stall. "Every time you beg, it makes me wanna string you out all the more."

Palms are sliding over his ass, thumbs over the crease, tormenting more than teasing that hothotheat inside of him that is aching and empty and hungry. 

"Tell me how much you like your present, Jen."

"I..." He trails off in a moan when Jeff nips at him through the panties again, so close to his hole, making his cock twitch and leak and ache. "Jesus, Jeff. I...I love 'em. Way they feel."

Jeff's hands slide to his hips, fingers splaying from the cut of his hip to his thighs. Jensen's dick jumps, skin buzzes. "How do they feel?" 

"Good," Jensen chokes as Jeff's fingers pinch the stretched lace on either side of his dick. He has to bite the insides of his cheeks when Jeff pulls the lace, rubs it back and forth over the head of Jensen's cock. 

Chuckling, Jeff asks, "Do they make you feel pretty, sweetheart?"

"Y-yeah," Jensen admits, heat on his cheeks and tears in his eyes and a blinding build of pleasure in his dick. Taking a deep breath, he adds, "Like a pretty - uh, fucker. Motherfucker."

Jeff's hands skirt down his legs, around, land hot and heavy on the backs of his thighs. "A pretty what?"

"A pretty slut," Jensen half sobs.

Humiliation is burning him as hot as the lace and skin on his skin when Jeff makes a sound like the hungriest kind of creature. Suddenly Jeff's hands are on his ass again, and they're rough, spreading his ass and the lace quick and wide enough that Jeff can spear his weapon tongue over Jensen's hole. 

"Shit," Jensen curses, unprepared for the shock of lace that rubs against him when Jeff's tongue presses it down. Then Jeff presses in, and Jensen can feel lace sinking inside, stuffed in shallow and sweet as the tip of Jeff's tongue fucks into his rim. 

Too many sensations but not enough to make him come. He tries to jerk into Jeff, get the panties and that tongue that could bring down civilizations deeper inside, but Jeff pinches his ass, wordlessly demanding Jensen's patience and stillness. 

"More. Jeff, I - ah - need more. Can't - wanna come, need to - "

Jeff's voice sounds soaked, wrecked, some mighty thing that's been drowning, when he wrenches his mouth away from Jensen. "All you need is this."

"Jeff - "

"My tongue," Jeff grits before pushing pink panties into pink flesh. Jensen fucks himself back onto the wetness, the heat. "And your new pretty." Another jab. "Pink." Jab. "Panties." He digs his thumb nails impossibly deeper into Jensen's skin, spreads Jensen's ass impossibly wider. "Make a mess of 'em. C'mon, Jen, my fuckin' pretty Jenny. Wanna see you lose it. Make a mess of your pretty present."

When Jeff starts to shallowly stuff him again, Jensen feels like crying: in relief, in frustration. He drops one hand from the stall to grip the top band of the panties. The texture of it under his fingers is almost as good as touching himself. 

Gripping his cock, jerking himself off while Jeff fucks him with his tongue and pink lace, doesn't even occur to him; he just curls his fingers into the fabric and drags it over his dick.

He's panting, cock wet as his tear bitten eyes, entire body empty and needy. Jeff tilts his head, drags his teeth over Jensen's twitching rim. Jensen's choking on his pleasure, on how ridiculously close he is to the edge, when Jeff finally allows his thumb to drift over his hole. 

"Gonna," Jensen breathes, eyes shocked wide. "Jeff, m'gonna - "

"Do it." Jeff shoves the tip of his thumb down, lace covered roughness dipping into Jensen's hole. Jensen cries out, soft and whimpering and desperate. "Get 'em messy. C'mon, pretty, c'mon. Fuckin' ruin 'em."

Jeff laves his tongue around his thumb. The wet drag of the tip against Jensen's rim, the heat and the texture of Jeff's skin, of the panties, is enough. Finally, it's enough. Jensen sobs Jeff's name and spills hot into his panties, coats the pink and the lace patterns with come. 

He slumps against the stall. The panties - his panties - are already sticking to his still hard cock. It's tacky and uncomfortable and such a damn mess, Jensen doesn't think he's going to able to soften enough to put his jeans back on. 

"Jesus fuck."

Another laugh, more breathless than the others, and Jeff is kissing his way up Jensen's body until his broad chest is pressing against Jensen's back and the bulge in his pants is rubbing against his ruined panties. 

"Your turn," Jensen mutters. He tries to turn around, but Jeff presses him into the stall. Jeff does let him twist his neck, doesn't move away when Jensen licks at his lips then slithers inside, tastes his mouth before finally bringing their mouths together. They're both panting when Jensen has to pull away to breathe. 

Jeff nips at his throat. Over his moan, he hears Jeff unzipping his trousers. 

"Have no idea, Jen. How god damn pretty you look in your little panties. How much I wanna mess you up."

Jensen doesn't know how much more of a mess he can be, but he pushes his ass back and gasps, "C'mon then."

He hears Jeff drop his pants, then feels the flushed head of Jeff's cock rub against his panties. With a groan he arches his back. The move pulls a groan from Jeff as well. 

The wet, sloppy sound of Jeff stripping his dick has Jensen squirming, wanting to see, touch, taste. He tries to turn around again but Jeff rumbles a sound of reprimand that curls itself around Jensen's still half-hard cock. 

"Gonna come exactly like this," Jeff breathes rough in his ear before licking over the shell. Jensen moans, tilts his head, gives Jeff everything. "All over your pretty ass. All over your pretty present."

All Jensen can think is yes, fuck yes, that, do that. 

Blind and trembling, he reaches one arm behind him. The angle and the twist shoos a slight stab through his arm, but he doesn't care, just fumbles until his fingers curl around Jeff's cock. 

They both moan, Jensen stupidly louder. He can’t help it, though, can’t help how it feels better than jacking his own cock when he slides his hand up then down Jeff’s. It’s dry, too much friction, and Jensen tightens his grip, because this is how Jeff likes it: rough and dirty with a pinch of pain.

Jeff fucks into his fist with jerking pumps. Growls and groans fall from Jeff and he makes no effort to silence or softens his sounds. His own release has cleared Jensen's head a little, left him more aware. He tries to tell Jeff to keep it down, there's too much at stake (there's queso at stake), but as soon as Jensen opens his mouth Jeff grips his hair and tilts him into a deep kiss. 

It only takes a few thrusts of Jeff's tongue in his mouth and Jeff's cock in his hand before Jeff is coming. Hot splashes hit his lower back, spray over his panties, drenching his lace and skin. 

-

After Jeff pulls his trousers back up, he turns Jensen against the stall and kisses him hungry and hot. Fucks his mouth until he's ready to be fucked for real, no teasing tongues or fingers, just Jeff ripping his ruined panties to the side and shoving that perfect cock into his ass. 

Jeff just pats his cheek, face fond and dimpled, and tells him to wait a few minutes before joining Jeff at their table again. Then Jeff leaves him, absolutely ruined, in the bathroom stall.

-

No one is looking at Jensen when he shuffles pink cheeked back into the restaurant. But he feels like they are; feels like there are eyes on his jeans, fixated on the wet spots in the front and back that he knows aren't there. It’s more thrilling than humiliating.

The walk to the table is long and heated. When he finally gets back to his seat, Jeff has their food boxed. Their receipt is on top of the Styrofoam stack. 

"I ordered you an extra chimichanga," Jeff says with a smile. "And queso to go."

Jensen notices the round container and grease stained bag of extra tortilla chips. His chest pulses and without thinking he reaches across the table to grab Jeff’s hand. 

“You’re going to Heaven,” Jensen says seriously. 

Jeff laughs. 

-

At Jeff's apartment, Jensen lies naked on his belly, face cool on a plush pillow as Jeff paints goose bumps over his thighs. He shivers at the sound of Jeff coating his fingers with lube; moans at the brush of Jeff's fingers tugging his panties to the side, revealing his hole.

"I'm gonna have to get you another pair," Jeff says, trailing a fingernail over Jensen's rim. "Maybe satin. Or silk? Would you like that, sweetheart?"

"Yeah. Fuck, yeah, you know I would."

Jeff slowly, too god damn slowly, sinks his index finger inside. He breathes heavily when Jensen sighs and rocks into the pressure. 

"Purple," Jeff murmurs, pulling his finger out and sinking two in. "Blue. I'd get you green, but I don't think I could match your eyes." He scissors his fingers a few times before sliding three fingers in Jensen's ass, twisting them as he goes. Jensen groans low in his throat when Jeff finally brushes over his prostate. "Black," Jeff grits, fingers punching faster and rougher. "Definitely. Black lace panties. The kind with garters. Put you in a pair of thigh highs, spread you out and just look at you until you beg me for it."

Jensen is begging now, wordless and wanton as he presses up into Jeff's fingers. He's loose and hungry, hole glistening and twitching, when Jeff finally eases his fingers away. It takes too long for Jeff to roll the condom on, but then his thick cockhead is nudging Jensen's hole, and Jensen bites his lip. Jeff yanks his panties even further to the side, asks if Jensen is ready for him to ruin his pretty pink hole like he ruined Jensen's pretty pink panties. 

Groaning, Jensen pushes himself to his knees and rocks back, asshole swallowing Jeff's cock until he feels Jeff's balls bump the swell of his ass. 

They're both too worked up to drag it out any longer. Jeff pumps a few hard but shallow thrusts before sliding nearly every inch of his thick cock from Jensen's ass then slamming back inside. He keeps up the rhythm, fills Jensen all the way up with brutal pleasure than yanks it from him, only to force it back in so deeply Jensen can feel Jeff in his guts, his chest, his throat.

Jeff practically growls as he grips Jensen's panties. He pulls at them so roughly they rattle then rip. The tear of fabric is electric, lightening in the room and Jensen's skin. Elastic pinches Jensen, lace falls from him, and when Jeff fucks him just deep and rough and perfect enough, he comes again with a shout. 

"Christ," Jeff snarls. He fucks in and in and in, hard and fast, until he's gripping Jensen's hips hard enough to bruise and spilling hot into the condom. 

-

"I really do love it," Jeff whispers, minutes or hours later, when they're nothing but spent lazy lines spiraling into each other. 

"Hmm?"

"The watch."

"Oh," Jensen says, school girl giddiness rushing through him. "Wanted to get you something perfect. And classy. 'Cause you are."

"Classy?"

"And perfect."

Jeff brushes a kiss over his forehead. Jensen sighs into his warmth. 

-

It's March before another crisp black box appears at Jensen's door.

He's exhausted-exhilarated, heart still thrumming after Keep Lake City Green's latest protest ended in the police escorting them for Carver Construction's parking lot. The sight of the innocuous gift rockets him from sky high to space drunk. 

Hurrying inside, he tears into the box immediately. Royal purple satin, accented with a flare of lavender lace, sits tempting on white paper. 

His cock is twitching to life, plumping between his thighs, when he slides his phone out of his pocket. 

Got your present. 

Do you like them, Jenny?

Jensen flushes flame hot as he types back. Yeah. Wanna help me ruin them?

Jeff doesn't text back, but he does show up at Jensen's door half an hour later. His suit jacket is folded over his arm, and Jensen can see the shine of the pocket watch. 

"I was thinking it's such a nice day out," Jeff says, lounging in Jensen's doorframe, movie star majestic. "Perfect day to drive around, see the city blooming. What do you say, Jen? You feel like going on a ride?"

Jensen does.


End file.
